


the gravity of heartache (is a small price to pay)

by drqco



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Introspection, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29298651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drqco/pseuds/drqco
Summary: “It’s not about running away from everything, right? Well—not entirely? It’s just wanting some different. Iowa was your—““Space,” Rafael finishes for him. There is truth in Sonny’s words, well, there always is. He’s not sure how much this was running away and wanting something different, he supposes that it’s not an equal split. It’s scary, how Sonny understands him so well. “You’re right,” he adds on.in which, rafael wanted to be an astronaut when he was younger. he reflects.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	the gravity of heartache (is a small price to pay)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by moon man by sammy copley... very barisi/rafael like, imo
> 
> hope u enjoy

Rafael wanted to be an astronaut when he was younger. 

He’d always dreamed of flying up into the sky. Past the stars, past the moon, and get away from everything that grounded him here on Earth. He’d take his Mami, his abuela, and he’d leave his Papi behind. Sometimes he thinks it’s selfish. But he doesn’t love him. Not when he hits him and his Mami, not when his shouts are so deafening, not when he crashes down on the floor—his glasses of that strange brown liquid spilled everywhere—he can’t love him. 

Rafael used to imagine that he’d be able to build a spaceship, fly up into the sky, and disappear. Some days he even imagined heading up there by himself—up there in space, you’re bound to nothing. You’re floating and flying, and you’ve got whole galaxies in front of you. His Mami would tell him that the stars were put there by God to guide all of them to new places. The stars were his ancestors—calling to Rafael. 

He’d hang up posters of spaceships and galaxies in his room—sit and watch NASA videos at the library, memorize all the planets and stars and constellations. He’d plan a course, and make a new home for his family. It was a lot to take in, as a nine year old. He knew too much about the world above him—but not yet—the one he was actually tethered to. 

It didn’t matter, anyway. He learned about his world soon enough. He learned it when his Mami was put into the hospital, and his Papi and Mami commanded him to lie through his teeth. _”She fell off her chair,”_ he said. The doctor didn’t bat an eyelash. 

He got hurt more. He didn't want to stay at home, anymore. (Was it even his home?) Rafael kept imagining a life in the stars. 

_”I’ll bring you there, Mami. You and me and abuela. We’d be so happy,”_ he told her one night, as she wished him goodnight. It was the night before the first day of eigth grade. It was a cold night in August, and he was shivering under his blanket—space themed, of course—but nevertheless, it was nice to have his Mami wish him goodnight. (People at school call him a Mama’s Boy. He finds nothing wrong with it. Who’d want to be a Daddy’s Boy?) 

“Mijo,” his mother cooed. She looked teary eyed, and he reached up to wipe her tears away. “You can’t go up there,” she whispered, cradling her face. He almost laughed at her then, he was so determined to make it up there. He’d studied, he’d make his plans in High School—he could do it. 

“You’ll learn, Rafael. I’m sorry, hm? You—you have to stay.” 

“Stay? Here, Mami? I know what’s happening—we have to leave.” 

“Those are fantasies. You’re better off doing something here. You’ve got the brains.” 

“I’ll take you _with me._ ”

“You know I can’t go, Rafael.” 

“Mami…” 

“Goodnight, mijo. Sleep well,” with that, she kissed him on his forehead and shut his door. He didn't sleep well. Not after what just happened, and not after he hears the shouts. 

The wind battered against his window, some of his posters fdlutter on and off the wall. Was he stuck here?

The next day, he signed himself up for Debate and Mock Trial. 

— 

Iowa felt like space, if Rafael had to be honest. 

Iowa gave him solace, peace. Even in the city, Iowa was much more quiet than Manhattan. He was working on election fraud, he had a beard, and he was far away from every person he loved. Whether he deserved it or earned it—he’s not totally sure. 

But life is easier here, slower. He finds himself taking his time at the grocery store rather than going through the motions in New York. He finds himself having staredowns with the carrots in the produce aisle, as if they held all the answers to the life he has just aquired. 

What’s happened to him is akin to flying a space mission—but everything that could go wrong, went wrong. 

His hand just moved to pull the plug. At the time, he felt like it was an accident. But something in him, something in there, was telling him to do it. To take Drew out of pain. A moment passed, and he lost control of his spaceship. 

— 

_”Rafael. You’re leaving?”_

_”Do you like space, Carisi?"_

_”Okay, so now it’s ‘Carisi’?_

_”Answer my question,” Rafael says calmly, not looking at the man in front of him, putting his books back into his box. He looks up at him, and Sonny’s head quirks to the side. There’s looks of confusion and anger written all over his face, some looks Rafael can’t quite place. “I’m more of an ocean guy, myself,” Sonny mutters, sitting down on Rafael’s desk._

_He didn’t expect that. In all the time he’s spent with the man, he’d never place him to like something like the ocean. He never expressed anything towards it._

_”Why?” he asks. Sonny shrugs, “Why go up there when we barely know about anything here? The ocean is huge, too.”_

_”Too many problems here, Carisi.”_

_”And you, out of all people, know that instead of running away, you gotta solve that stuff here first,” Sonny grits out, standing up, his hands in fists. The two of them suddenly become aware that his statement isn’t just about the ocean and space._

_”Guess I want to be an explorer, then,” he murmurs, not bothering to look at him. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he just knows that if he did look at him again, he’d never have the balls to go to Iowa. “Did I mean anything to you?”_

_”Yes,” he answers as curtly and honestly as he did before._

_Sonny slams the door on his way out. He flinches._

— 

It does get lonely out here. 

He didn’t know too many people, apart from his coworkers. He doesn’t speak much with them either—he’s found out that people here don’t take his sarcasm as lightly as they did in New York. But no one knows about his past—no one knows about his shitty father and his tiny apartment and his job and the anomaly known as Sonny Carisi. The anonymity keeps him safe. And safety gives him peace—no pain. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know that he has a habit of running away from his problems. If something gets through his armor, he’s either running or cutting that thing out of his life. No time to solve it, no time to fight his own demons when he’s busy fighting someone else’s. It’s easier. And Iowa was his escape. 

Far from home, far from everyone, far from his past, far from pain. Here, people smile when he walks the streets—they know him as Rafael Barba—the man fighting for their voting rights. The man who likes to have staring contests with the vegetables at the grocery store, the man who muttered when he walked, the man who took the third seat at their local bar. Here he can pretend that it’s fine. That he’s fine—that his past won’t come knocking at his door. 

He could get used to this. 

— 

_”I wanted to be an astronaut when I was growing up.”_

_”I can’t imagine you in a spaceship.”_

_”I thought that things would be better for me up in space.”_

_”Do you still think it'd be better up there?”_

I would want you with me, he thinks. I don’t want to imagine my life without you. 

_He shrugs, “Maybe.”_

— 

He misses him. 

Misses his touch and his grin and his food and the way he occupies his space. Misses the way his legs spread from under neath him, how his face contorts into the most beautiful expressions, his weird idioms and metaphors. Misses his coffee, embraces on cold nights, his stupid legal advice. He misses heartbreak and pain and their fights, misses his place in his bed. Misses the way he calls out his name on the phone, he misses every little part of Sonny Carisi. 

Rafael rolls to his side on his bed, the empty space to his left cold and empty. Closing his eyes, he reminisces of the time Sonny Carisi made his home next to him—even if they weren’t officially something. (Were they?) 

He’ll go back, one day. 

— 

On a warm night in summer, he finds himself in the company of one Sonny Carisi. 

They sit across from each other on Sonny’s couch, with Sonny having a vice grip on his beer bottle while Rafael folds his hands atop his lap. The apartment looks the same, just messier. Files and papers scattered everywhere—an empty pizza box on his coffee table. It reminds Rafael of when he was a junior ADA.

Sonny is wearing a plain black hoodie and his pajamas, but the bags under his eyes tell Rafael that he wasn’t planning on sleeping anytime soon. Saturday Night Live plays mutely on his television. 

They haven’t said much upon seeing each other, because Rafael cannot find the words to say. He wishes they could just communicate physically, even though Rafael was an assassin with words—with Sonny—he’s rendered useless. 

“Y’know—when you left? I, uh, was really angry,” Sonny says, and Rafael notices his grip loosening on the beer bottle. “I thought you were a coward. Running away from everything—instead of fixing the mess you made. Didn’t seem like you.” 

“You aren’t wrong,” Rafael responds, staring the other man in his eyes. Sonny’s face seems to soften at that, and he puts the bottle down on the table. “I thought about what you said. About the explorer and space thing. I remember you’d tell me about it all. I think I understand,” the ADA smiles softly at him. 

“It’s not about running away from everything, right? Well—not entirely? It’s just wanting some different. Iowa was your—“ 

“Space,” Rafael finishes for him. There is truth in Sonny’s words, well, there always is. He’s not sure how much this was running away and wanting something different, he supposes that it’s not an equal split. It’s scary, how Sonny understands him so well. “You’re right,” he adds on. 

“Never thought I’d hear that again, Rafael,” the dam breaks. Sonny lets out a laugh but it’s muddled with tears and Rafael cannot stay away. He’s stayed away for years, but here, on Sonny’s couch, he can’t help it anymore. “Could’a at least called,” Sonny laugh-cries in his arms. Rafael wraps him up and holds him tightly, and Sonny hugs him back. Sonny feels skinnier and bonier, which he never thought was possible. His hair was greyer up close. He’s changed so much—it makes Rafael’s stomach swirl. 

“No cell service in space, unfortunately,” Rafael jokes back as easily. They aren’t quite where they used to be and that’s okay. They’ve grown in more ways than they could count. They’ll find a way to fit. 

His younger self would be apalled if he saw him right now—still tethered to Earth—tethered to another human being. But he didn’t understand it back then—when his Mami had told him that he couldn’t go up high, that he had to stay here. But he didn’t lash out, didn’t get angry when his Mami had told him this. Upset, yes—but angry. His Mami smiled at him—this big, genuine, bright smile—and Rafael knew not going up to that darkness was worth her smile. 

And as Sonny grins at him, eyes full of tears, whispering, “I’m glad you’re staying,” Rafael feels the same.


End file.
